


Moran's Travel Blog - France

by Colonel_Moriarty



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Travel Blog Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 04:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13427133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colonel_Moriarty/pseuds/Colonel_Moriarty
Summary: Another exciting travel in the live of Sebastian Moran- sniper, butler and babysitter to Consulting Criminal Jim Moriarty. But don't tell Jim he said that. This time they're headed to France. By car. This can only end terrible.





	1. Chapter 1

April, 29th

Having a nice peaceful dinner with Jim is always a hassle. Most of the times he doesn’t really eat but only pokes and prods at the food as if it was poison. Or as if he was a kid facing a large portion of spinach. Other times he is simply too busy with his laptop or cell phone or with watching Glee or another of these awful brainless shows.

But tonight we’re actually sitting at the kitchen table together, the table is set and the telly is off. And Jim isn’t fiddling with his cell; instead he’s asking me to get him some wine with the food. I should have added some candles and it would have been almost romantic. Hah!

*

What do normal people do when they’re down to their last bottle of fancy wine? Exactly- they either go to Tesco and buy some more (the stuff is decent enough, but I’m no expert, really), or they go to their laptops and order some.

Would that be sufficient for Jim? No, of course not. What does he do instead? He tells me that I should go to bed early because we’re heading to France tomorrow.

*

I guess I must have looked as if I thought this was a very belated, very bad April Fool’s joke because Jim tells me that it’s not one and that I shouldn’t be such a doofus or else I’ll sleep on the floor tonight. He’s a little huffed about the fact that I thought he could be joking. Or he’s more upset that I might be thinking he’s crazy. Now what could have possibly given me /that/ idea.

I can’t help but wonder at times how Jim’s brain is wired. Maybe he’s blowing fuses all the time and if I am really really quiet I could maybe even hear them go ‘pop’.

*

I guess I shouldn’t have stared at Jim and leaned in so closely because he bops me on the head with his fork and tells me that he hopes I enjoy sleeping on the floor tonight after all for being an obnoxious moron. It could be worse I suppose.

*

I’m surprised. Jim actually let me sleep. He didn’t play songs at 3AM. He didn’t sit next to me to stare at me creepily. He didn’t jump on my stomach to wake me up. Now I’m well rested but very very worried. Jim acting so abnormally normal just doesn’t work in my mind. I better ready myself for the big bang to come.

*

Jim chooses our fake IDs for this time and I’m relieved to see he’s not picking some weird Spanish name for me that could be translated to something very unflattering. Instead we end up as brothers which makes me grin inside because we look oh so similar that we could be twins. I go to grab our stuff and this time its full tourist disguise again. Jim tells me to pack one suit though for ‘occasions’. Not sure what he’s referring to but he’s the boss.

*

Jim just handed me the keys to the Toyota. I must have stared at him for a moment too long because he kicks me in the shin and tells me to ‘move my big dumb arse’. I would have made jokes about the fact that Jim should know anatomy better and all but I can’t because I realize now why he allowed me to sleep.

The little crazy fucker actually wants us to go there by car. I can’t help but grimace and he asks me to stop making monkey faces and shoves the luggage at me. This is going to be fun.

*

As we’re driving through the outskirts of London Jim suddenly looks very sad and takes out a handkerchief. Before I can ask him what’s wrong he turns around on his seat and starts to wave at the city as we leave it, blowing kisses at it and promises it that ‘we’ll be back soon, darling’. I can’t roll my eyes just yet at the dramatic exit as I’m too busy to tell Jim to get the goddamn seat belt back on before I have to pull over and stop the car. Jim does sit back down but now he’s pouting.

*

Because I’m obviously a heartless bastard and sentiments are lost on me, Jim decides to punish me by picking what music we listen to. If I had been worried it would be all this modern crappy pop music, Jim swiftly lets me know that no, it’s none of them. Instead he pops in a CD with French chansons and we listen to them at the highest volume. I think I might be temporarily deaf afterwards and end up hating French music with a passion.

*

Jim is getting hungry and demands that we stop at one of those Service Areas. I tell him that that’s not a good idea since I have experienced the kind of food they sometimes serve there. But Jim is adamant about it and I pull over into the parking lot near the gas station and the shabby run down looking self serve restaurant. I do notice there’s quite a few motor bikes parked outside as well and I get this sense of foreboding.

*

The inside of the restaurant is as shabby as the outside and I find myself staring in disapproval at all the greasy, fatty food on the menu. I think they deep fry even the scrambled eggs and the toast. Jim is all excited though; obviously this is a gourmet adventure to him as he picks the good old English breakfast and gets a huge plate of all sorts of items that might be food. I’m not too certain myself so I just go for a sandwich.

*

I forgot to buy us something to drink and while I go to grab something, Jim wanders off with his tray to find a table. I know I shouldn’t have left him doing that on his own because the moment I turn around I notice him heading for a large booth in the corner which is currently already occupied by half a dozen guys in biker gear that look like they could bite off Jim’s head with ease. Oh God.

*

I approach them with caution and when I’m finally close enough to listen in, I find my boss entertaining them with a conversation about which Disney Princess is the best. To my shock these blokes actually start to discuss the pros and cons of each princess with Jim while my boss happily munches on his beans on toast. As I sit down next to him my face must have had a funny expression because Jim starts to giggle, almost snorting baked beans from his nose and gives me a punch in my side because it was my fault. Then he introduces me to the bikers as if they’re old friends and I just sit there and eat my sandwich, trying not to find too much sense in the current situation.

*

After allowing Jim a few test rounds on one of their bikes (trust me, I can’t quite believe it myself that I’m typing this) the guys finally have to leave and I receive handshakes and shoulder pats that make me check my fingers for permanent damage. I think they might have broken my shoulder too. But Jim is grinning like a loon which tells me everything is perfectly fine. And yet I’m glad to get him back into the car.

*

We don’t even get back on the highway. I had warned Jim about the quality of the food but since he wouldn’t listen he now is giving tribute to the porcelain throne in the not too clean service station bathroom. I can hear him moan about blowing this place up while the food leaves his body rapidly. And no, I don’t feel any pity for him.

*

After recovering a bit and taking one of the pills I provide him with, Jim curls up in his seat and closes his eyes, telling me he’s going to die and he expects me to bury his remains in the Buckingham Palace. I tell him not to be so dramatic to which he replies by switching the radio back on. I really should have learned by now when to keep my mouth shut.

*

Jim luckily falls asleep after a while so I get to turn down the volume a bit. Unfortunately we end up in a jam as we finally near the northern parts. I try myself in patience, fearing the moment when Jim wakes up again because he’s anything but patient when he really wants something.

*

It is as I feared. As soon as Jim wakes up he demands to know why we’re going so slowly. I don’t reply and point at the rows of cars in front of us, blocking the way. Jim gives me this ‘I can’t believe you’re this stupid’ glance and tells me to go and get the rocket launcher from the trunk to clear the way. I have to tell him I didn’t pack one up and these news don’t make Jim very happy. Now I experience what it is like to be on the road with a whiney four year old.

I’m sure he’s doing it on purpose though.

*

We finally arrive at Dover and I let Jim decide whether we use the tunnel or whether we go by ferry. I’m certain he’ll pick the first option considering ships never seem to agree with him.

Surprisingly he picks the latter and I get us a ticket before driving the car on board. I am left wondering if Jim might be afraid of long dark places more than of moving boats that could get him sea sick but in the end the explanation is as simple as it can get.

*

After following Jim everywhere to make sure he won’t accidentally fall over board he somehow managed to weasel away from me. I realize that when the ship suddenly takes a turn and instead of going straight to Calais we end up zigzagging around the white cliffs which are a natural beauty but it’s hard to enjoy it when you’re too worried that your boss might crash the ship into then. Don’t ask me how he managed to take control of the ferry.

*

After the ferry crew finds the culprit (Jim), we’re told to stay in a separate area inside, which basically means they locked us up in a cabin. Jim doesn’t seem too upset though as he presses his hands and face to the window, watching the waves outside. I know I should say something but it wouldn’t really change anything so I just stand there, arms crossed, a displeased expression on my face.

I can’t wait for us to arrive at Calais.


	2. Moran's Travel Blog - France Part 2

April, 11th

We did make it to Calais and the first thing Jim demanded as we step on French ground is that I fall to my knees in front of him and shout ‘Vive le roi’. My French is rusty yet I don’t need a translation to that part. I tell Jim to sod off but his reply makes me change my mind though as he tells me if I don’t do it /he/ will drive the car.

I hate it when people stare at me as if I’m the crazy one.

*

After a heated discussion (with himself none the less), Jim decides that we head for the Burgundy first. On the way there we grab a few delicacies for a picnic later on. Say what you want about the French but they know good food and they know how to live.

*

Our car ride is relatively peaceful. Jim is still playing French chansons but at a more humane volume. The only thing he’s complaining about while playing ‘Angry birds’ on his cell phone is that the French really should stop driving on the wrong side of the road. He claims its making him nervous because he doesn’t want me to crash into another car. I don’t bother reminding him that I haven’t had a car crash in years unless Jim was involved.

*

We stop somewhere on a small road that leads into the country side. I’m just glad there’s no volcano’s involved this time. Our fancy meal consists of cheese, baguette and cider. I can’t help but notice that Jim keeps looking over to the cows in the fenced area of the nearby field.

*

I must have fallen asleep because I suddenly dream of sexy French girls swooning all over me. Fat chance that’ll happen with Jim around. When I wake up Jim is nowhere to be found. I really shouldn’t be surprised about this anymore but I still go into full bodyguard mode whenever it happens. I hope he didn’t climb any of those nearby trees. Or took the car and left without me. Ugh.

*

Okay, the car is still there. Good. Jim also didn’t climb any trees. Even better. But I still can’t find him anywhere. Not so great.

*

I found him. He’s on the nearby field. Obviously he took more interest in the cows than I estimated at first. I wouldn’t say he made friends with them but he somehow managed to lure one towards him and now he’s sitting on top of it, looking all smug. I’m really not sure what has gotten into Jim, seeing he’s usually not very fond of animals (hair on his Westwood, y’know), but maybe he found a soul mate in it?

I hope he didn’t see me grin. Or take photos of him.

Oh, okay, now I understand the cow riding business. Because Jim is kind enough to explain it to me. Obviously Jim decided he’s in need of a new pair of elegant footwear. And such is made of leather. And leather is part of a cow. And…well…

To make a long and ridiculous story short- he named the cow ‘Shoes’.

*

Jim is still ignoring me when we reach the Burgundy because I failed to squeeze the cow into the trunk of our car. I never tried to be honest and I told him that Toyotas were not built for this purpose. He’s still acting as if I don’t exist when we park in front of a fancy Hotel. I am almost worried he’ll have me sleep in the car but he decides to be merciful and books a room for two.

*

After dropping our luggage and a quick change of clothes we explore the area so Jim can get his expensive wine. They seem to offer some guided tourist tours with wine tasting and visiting the wine yards and even pretending to make your own wine but Jim just scoffs and says he doesn’t want to be associated with people wearing sport caps and cameras and act like they’re cavemen. I just stare at the sport cap he is wearing as part of his ‘tourist disguise’ but bite my tongue otherwise.

*

There are a lot of places selling wine and there’s a lot of testing going on. I try to hold back with said testing while Jim turns it into a show with sucking air in and moving the wine around in his mouth and all this shit that supposedly helps bringing out the true flavor. He looks completely ridiculous that way but hey, if it makes him happy. It’ll keep him from bothering me at least.

*

God… My head is killing me. I just woke up in our bed, half dressed with the sensation of a thousand jackhammers giving a live concert in my brain. My tongue feels as if a cat slept on it and seeing Jim stare at me bleary eyed tells me he feels the same. I need a cold shower and a coffee before I can function normal again.

*

According to what memories I managed to salvage from my alcohol tortured brain the testing went a bit too far and we ended up with a group of tourists. Jim obviously pretended to be French and confused and scared the hell out of the bunch of Americans when he claimed that the French wine is made from virgin maiden’s blood. And that the French king bathed in Champagne instead of water. Afterwards we must have ended up in a wooden tub full of grapes that we attempted to stomp into wine and Jim was giggling about drowning after slipping the umpteenth time. I don’t remember much after that. I think I stay away from wine for a while though.

*

Since we’re both feeling like shit Jim decided that we should relax the rest of the day. The hotel has a spa area and he drags me along to make sure my skin gets the needed nutrients. Fuck this, I’m not going to let somebody put some cucumber slices on my eyes and smear some crap on my face to make my skin smooth like a baby’s arse! I’m a sniper, not some model! I better let Jim know that I rather spend the day face down on the bed. Interrupted by an occasional smoke.

*

Great. Just great. Would it surprise anybody to hear that Jim didn’t listen to a word I said to him? Now I’m sitting in another tub. Just this time it’s not filled with half squashed grapes but with hot mud that goes up to my neck. Jim is sitting in the tub next to me and seems too amused by the face I’m pulling to care about the fact that we’re both neck deep in brown hot sludge. He then tells me that it’s supposedly helping with tenseness. Very funny, boss. Very funny.

*

Of course Jim picked a male masseur for me. He couldn’t let some pretty girl knead around on me. I’m just glad the guy who’s working my back over doesn’t look like he could crush stones with his hands. Instead it’s rather enjoyable. So much so that I’m falling asleep in the middle of it.

*

When I wake up again the massage is still going on but it feels different. It takes my tired brain a moment to really grasp what’s so different. First of all nobody is kneading me anywhere. It feels more like somebody is slapping…my…arse.

Jim must have climbed on top of me after the masseur left and I must have been so out of it I didn’t even feel it. I suppose I deserve his spanking then. As he realizes I’m awake he climbs off me and leans down so he can look at my face. I can see he’s holding his cell phone in his hand and I vaguely remember seeing him write some texts while we were relaxing in that hot mud.

*

Jim just announced that I should be eternally grateful and jump in joy because he decided we should go to Paris. Because I deserve a vacation obviously.

I know bad things are going to happen. Mark my words.

*

I think Seb could use another mudpack. He looks suddenly so tense again. ~Jim


	3. Moran's Travel Blog - France Part 3

April, 12th

Leaving the Burgundy behind the trunk of our Toyota might not contain a cow or new shoes but enough bottles of wine to get an Army drunk. I won’t be touching that stuff, I swear. My head still hurts just thinking about it. Jim looks awfully relaxed though and while I try to claim it’s the mud bath and massage I fear the reasons lay elsewhere and its giving me the shivers.

*

We stop by at St. Denis and I always feel awkward when we go into a church. There’s just something about us being here that is so very very wrong. But I guess its part of the sightseeing until I realize why exactly Jim picked this location. Now he’s walking from sculpture to sculpture that are set up above the graves of some of the French kings and queens.

The creepy part is that he’s treating it like a family reunion. He’s chatting away to them as if he has known them half his life. People are staring but I try to ignore it. I’m not really successful and find myself glaring back, trying to scare people off. Jim does seem to notice that and pats my hand shortly, telling me that common people just won’t understand.

Not sure what’s that supposed to mean.

*

I’m just glad I could deter Jim from actually staying in the cathedral over night. He even wanted me to get some wine so he could toast to his ‘family’ I hope he was just saying that to creep me out.

*

Ah Paris, city of love and art and…

…of Jim pressing his hands and face to the windshield, making little happy noises like a school girl. All I can make out from his garbled squeals is ‘Eifel Tower’ and ‘souvenirs’. I guess I should prepare myself for some hours of carrying shopping bags.

*

Luckily I’m allowed to get us to the Hotel first. Its right in the middle of this busy city and Jim made sure to pick the best rooms of course. While I unpack his clothes and make sure to hang up his suit he drapes over the bed and plays with his cell phone. Then he suddenly tells me he needs his suit and that we’re having a date at the Eifel Tower. I’m dead certain he’s not talking about a date with me and I guess I better take my gun along.

*

As we reach the Eifel Tower I can’t help but be fascinated by this monstrous ugly metal structure. Jim however is fascinated by the souvenir stands so he’s already gone before I can even say a word. I don’t know why he’d need two dozen tiny Eifel Towers but I think it’s smarter not to ask.

*

I did ask after all and got Jim’s ‘Don’t be stupid Moran’ gaze that I know and love so much. Hrm. Now he’s buying me one of those tacky ‘My boyfriend went to Paris and all I got was this lousy shirt’ T-Shirts. It’s pink too. And on top of that he pushes the large plastic bag at me to carry his new treasures.

*

Having connections sure is nice since it means we’re brought to a separate elevator that leads all the way up to the top instead of having to wait with the tourists to buy tickets and squash into one with people wearing tacky shorts and socks with their sandals. Or worse, we would have had to take the staircase. I know Jim isn’t fond of sweating so this is much more comfortable.

*

Jim can be so darn cute sometimes. We’re all the way up now and he’s telling me to stay away from the railing as I was about to lean against it while having a smoke. He seems to think I might stumble and fall. How adorable. I almost think he cares about me. Should I be worried?

*

The elevator just came up again and spit out a nervous looking man in a business suit. Jim welcomes him in an overly excited fashion, calling him ‘Maurice’. Obviously he’s one of Jim’s connections here in Paris. But I get the feeling he wasn’t called here for a happy chat among friends.

*

Obviously Maurice tried to be a smartass and attempted to screw Jim over. Of course Jim doesn’t care about the loss of money but he can’t have people fuck with him. After all they work for him. He owns their little miserable lives. I stand next to Jim, watching and listening, ready to pull my gun and shoot the guy in the head if Jim requested me to. But for now he’s just being his scary friendly self, face all smile but his eyes all big and dark. The other man looks like he’s going to faint any second.

*

Fuck.

Now I know why Jim told me to stay away from the railing. Not gonna ask how he did it but he just pushed Maurice against railing and it fell apart more or less. The man’s eyes were so wide, as he screamed and flailed helplessly with his arms to grab onto something while Jim has his creepiest Cheshire grin, before leaning forward to watch him fall. I’m just in time to snag my boss by the collar of his suit before he can join his former associate.

*

Jim is disappointed as we have leave in a hurry. He really wanted to see how Maurice looked after the fall but I force him into a cab and we get away before the police arrives and starts asking curious questions. Jim is still rather hyper and demands we do something fun. Like going to the Louvre. Obviously he heard the remaining crown jewels are kept there and he needs them for reasons he won’t indulge me with just yet.

*

I think Jim was rather disappointed with the Louvre. Not because of the art on display but he had to find out the hard way that barely any royal treasures are left. Most got lost during the French revolution I guess. Now he’s in a bad mood and claims he just wants to go back to the hotel and sleep.

*

I try my best to cheer him up again by dragging him into one of those French bakeries. The one I shove him into has the cutest little cakes on display and I notice how Jim’s mood slowly turns to the better again. He can appreciate beautiful things although he tends to break them. In this case it means we end up sitting at a comfortable table and while I go for a coffee Jim devours a good dozen of those tarts and cakes. He doesn’t look as good anymore afterwards.

*

Yeah, yeah, I know it’s my fault this time that Jim is laying in the hotel bed with a huge stomach ache, whining and moaning as I place a warm water bottle on his belly. He bats at my hand and calls me all sorts of things but I take his words as signs of endearment.

*

When I wake up again it’s shortly after midnight and Jim is punching my side. At first I think he wants some more tea but then I notice that look in his eyes and I know he’s feeling better again and adventurous. He tells me to get dressed and take everything useful along. Not sure what he’s referring to but I’ll have my gun in any case.

*

I really didn’t expect us to end up at the Louvre again but here we are and I wonder what Jim is up to. Don’t ask me how he got us inside and through security but he’s a clever little genius so that’s all the explanation you’ll get. Can’t give away Jim’s secrets, now can I?

*

As we wander the corridors I know now why we’re even here. After getting over his tummy ache Jim suddenly decided our flat could use some new pictures and he only wants the best of course. As we pass one expensive painting after the after Jim comments each with words like ‘boring’ ‘tacky’ ‘bad lighting’ ‘dull subject’ ‘doesn’t match the wallpaper’. He especially goes down on any painting depicting a naked lady because he knows I wouldn’t mind having one of those in our living room.

*

Obviously the main target of his interest is the painting of the Mona Lisa. Sure it’s famous and all and even a woman but all she does is smile and it’s even just half a painting without any arse and legs and such. When we finally find it I can’t say I’m any more impressed. It’s fucking tiny. I suppose though it could look good over our toilet.

*

Jim just took out a sticky note after examining the picture thoroughly and is scribbling something down. Then he attaches the note to the frame of the picture and tells me we’re going back to the hotel. The…fuck..? What is going on? Why would he wake me in the middle of the bloody night just to dick around in the L- Oh of course. Because he’s bored and he likes to annoy me.

*

Just caught a glimpse of the sticky note before we’re leaving. Should I laugh or cry now?

It reads:

Horrible brushwork. Sloppy. Dull topic. You can keep it. <3


	4. Moran's Travel Blog - France Part 4

April, 13th

After a short night with little rest Jim wakes me up at 5 AM to inform me that we’re skipping breakfast and are heading out /right now/. I barely get time to brush my teeth or to pee. What is it now that we got to hurry like this? Hopefully he’s not planning to throw more people down buildings. It gets annoying after a while.

*

I think it was audible how the tons of rocks fell off my back when I realize that we’re just going to a flea market. Those should be devoid of any danger and hopefully there’s not much Jim can do to drive me bonkers. I rather like flea markets myself so I busy myself looking for old pocket watches and old weapons. Wouldn’t mind to get me some old pistols or such. Not sure what Jim is looking for but I fear that while his taste on clothes is impeccable he likes to buy the kitschiest things available otherwise.

*

Jim found something for me. He claims its perfect and he expects me to put it on my night table so I can look at it adoringly every night before I go to bed. Great. Now I’m stuck with a porcelain tiger. Which looks rather horrible if I may say so? Poor thing got an awful soul less expression. But Jim claims it got the same exact dumb facial expression I got most of the time. Thanks, Jim. You’re such a poet with your words.

*

We just found a few cane-swords and Jim challenged me to a duel. I don’t think the owner of the weapons is as happy as Jim is as he claims to be a musketeer and I’m supposedly one of the bad guys. He expects me to lose the duel so I do my best dying impression. He doesn’t seem very satisfied with it as he pokes me with the pointy tip. Why do I have to remind him that this doesn’t actually feel nice? At least my little pain filled grunts seem to satisfy him as he buys the pair we used to duel. To remind him of the lovely expression on my face when I died. I hope he didn’t take photos of it.

*

After a quick French breakfast in one of the many cafes which consists of a large cup of milk coffee and a croissant the size of my hand we’re off to more sightseeing. Of course we’re heading to the usual places but so far I managed to avoid the Champs Elyse because I rather not have Jim try to stuff me into another designer suit. But right now he seems busy enough deciding where to go next.

*

Jim picked out next goal- Notre Dame. Another cathedral, really? At least there’s no dead royals buried here, are there? Of course it turns out the reason why we’re here is even worse than visiting dead kings. Jim suddenly starts to act out scenes from the ‘Hunchback of Notre Dame’. The Disney version. Obviously he decided I take the role of Quasimodo and his eyes get this suspicious glint that I know so very well.

*

Obviously displeased with my lack of enthusiasm with my new role after telling me a dozen times that I should hunch over more and look dumber than usual, Jim decided that I should at least fulfill the part that is Quasimodo’s job. In other words- he wants me to get upstairs and ring the fucking bells. I tell him to get lost and he lets me know if I don’t do it he’ll throw me into the Seine. That threat doesn’t really worry me but when he tells me our next goal will be every godamn clothing story in the city if I don’t move my arse I decide to follow his charming request.

*

I’m pretty sure I’m deaf now. And banned from ever setting foot into Notre Dame again. I’m just glad they didn’t call the cops on us. At least Jim is awfully happy about my obedience and the result.

*

We’re headed to Napoleons grave next. I’m not sure what’s wrong with Jim. All this fascination with churches and dead people. And I thought Paris was the city of love? Haven’t been able to ogle at a single French chick yet. But it’s hard to do that anyways when Jim is around. I got a plan though. Let’s see if it works.

*

Jim is currently walking up and down the hallway that leads around Napoleons sarcophagus, explaining to me loudly and in all (boring) details why Napoleon had been brilliant but also very dumb and how he could have won the battle of Waterloo. I try not to grin as I suddenly imagine Jim wearing Napoleons uniform, hand in his lapel as you’d see it on all those old pictures of him.

*

Guess where we’re going next? No, wait you’ll never guess it- a church! This time its Sacré-Coeur and there’s quite some stairs to climb uphill. It’ll be good exercise I guess. It’s not like we’ve been walking all day long! And it seems Jim saw my grin at Les Invalides because he suddenly flops down on the staircase halfway up and claims his leg hurts terribly and that he needs me to carry him. So I’m giving my boss a piggy back ride up to Montparnasse.

*

While I’m rather out of breath as we get all the way up, Jim is in the best possible mood after having me properly punished so he decides to be nice as we head for the artists quarter. And he being nice means that he buys me more kitschy things for me to put up in my bedroom. He just found the most adorable and kitschiest picture of a pair of kittens in a woven basket ever and he claims that they totally remind him of me and that I should be grateful that he’s got such a good taste in art.

*

Now I’m sitting on a small chair, having some art guy draw a cartoonish version of myself and Jim is fluttering around him like a sparrow on speed, commenting every line drawn with sentences like ‘No, make his ears larger’, ‘no, no, he looks less intelligent. Make him look dumber’ and ‘he should look more like a monkey, I think’. I can’t wait to see the masterpiece. I think I should ‘accidentally’ burn it at some point before he decides it should be put up in my office at Jim’s ‘company’. Dekker would have a field day.

*

We take lunch in a cozy little restaurant and Jim foils my attempt to flirt with the waitress by putting his hand on mine and smiling sweetly up at her. He’s also telling her in French that she wouldn’t like me because I snore and keep my socks on during sex. I wish I had one of those socks now to strangle Jim with it.

*

I don’t know how it happened but I must have been very exhausted. So exhausted in fact that I allowed Jim to drive the car for a while as we head back to town. God, I must have a secret death wish.

*

If you ever woke up feeling you clothes getting soaking wet because your boss managed to get so distracted by his cell phone that he drove your car into the Seine- then you probably know the thoughts that were rushing through my head as I manage to drag Jim out of the car and up to the surface. I’m convinced now that he did try to kill me. Or that he is in dire need of a legal guardian. Because that man has clearly lost the plot when he tells me he had to get his priorities straight. And obviously his cell phone comes before driving safely.

*

While our car is being retrieved from the Seine we head back to the hotel. Jim is whining about his clothes being ruined and feeling wet and miserable. I ignore him and put up my deadliest silence possible. He already knows that I’m beyond pissed but Jim wouldn’t be Jim if he came to apologize straight on. No he’ll try to do it a different, less obvious way.

*

I’m still fuming quietly as I’m standing on the balcony of our suite, having a smoke. I should have smoked inside the room and blown the smoke at Jims face but that would have been childish. He finally follows me after having made sure to get his cell phone to dry properly so it won’t be damaged. I think if there was a fire he’d rescue it first and tell me to get out myself and not be such a lazy arse.

*

So Jim just asked me what I’d like to do with the rest of the day. It’s his way to say ‘sorry’ and I already know where to go when I tell him I heard of some interesting cabaret shows and how he likes French chansons and all. He gives me a suspicious glance but agrees on it in the end so I’ll stop being mad at him.

*

Seems that Jim has never heard of the Moulin Rouge. It doesn’t surprise me because it’s not exactly in his line of interest. But it’s definitely in mine. And I have to say I felt a certain dark delight watching his facial expression change as it dawns on him to what sort of show I dragged him. Oh he doesn’t mind the singing or the dancing (even if he’d prefer an opera I guess), but he didn’t expect so many sort of topless girls and the glances he’s sending my way could make metal melt. But he can’t ruin this evening for me as I sip from my champagne and enjoy the sight. I’ll regret it tomorrow I guess.


	5. Moran's Travel Blog - France Part 5

April 13th

After a night of decent sleep Jim wakes me up early again. This time I’m awake and ready fast because I am still awaiting my punishment for pulling the Moulin Rouge stunt on him. But strangely enough there’s no punishment just a cup of coffee. Which is hot and not laced with arsenic or laxative. I wonder what he’s planning this time. But I smile and sip my coffee and decide to enjoy my last day on earth while I can.

*

My last day on earth smells of fish apparently. And is filled with fish as we walk through Les Halles, gigantic market halls where you can buy all sorts of fresh meats, vegetables, fruits and…well fish. Jim has taken his camera along and is taking photos of especially ugly examples of fish, naming them –depending on the way they look- Mycroft, Lestrade, John and Sherlock. I try not to roll my eyes because I still fear punishment.

*

Jim just dragged me over to a market stall where you can get fresh oysters. Before I can say anything he orders a dozen and shoves the plate over to me. If he thought he can punish me this way, he’s sorely mistaken. I had oysters before and while they’re not my favorite I can eat them just fine. So I gulp down a dozen of these babies while Jim stares at me with big eyes. I suppose I impressed him there.

*

As we leave Les Halles I can’t help but notice that there’s a bunch of cats following Jim. He tries his best to shoo them away but to no avail. I wonder what they see in him that I can’t see. Sure we walked around the fish market but they don’t seem particularly interested in me so maybe its Jim’s aftershave?

*

You didn’t just hint at the possibility of my expensive aftershave smelling of fish, Moran? ~Jim

*

We escaped the cats with some trouble and I just found out why they followed us. Obviously Jim tried to smuggle an exceptionally ugly fish outside in his pocket that he did line out with a plastic bag but the scent was strong enough to draw in any cat in a two mile radius. When I ask him why, he tells me that he needed a souvenir for Mycroft. I regret I asked.

*

I manage to persuade Jim to throw away the fish which he does reluctantly. The cats were very grateful I think. I saw a dozen leap for the free meal as we walked away.

*

I just noticed that Jim keeps looking at me all the time in a sort of expectant way. Not sure what he’s waiting for but it’s not happening. Maybe he’s just trying to make me nervous. And it works. I’m glad that he plans on more sightseeing because that will hopefully distract him from staring at me as if he was a cat and I’m a yummy fish diner.

*

Our next stop is the Opera. Luckily just to get a guided tour around it and not to actually watch one of those dreadfully long operas. I do believe I got a decent taste in music but I just can’t grasp Jim’s fascination for ladies singing on the top of their voices in Italian or French. I’m not sure there since I never seem to understand them. At least my boss is all happy now, listening to the tour guide like an excited kid while I stay close to make sure nobody bumps into him or such. Even if this is now officially a vacation I’m never off duty.

*

Obviously the tour also leads through the catacombs below the Opera House. Jim is babbling something about Gaston Leroux but I’m not sure if he’s talking about a singer, an architect or a mass murderer that was possibly hiding down here. Its good I don’t believe in ghosts because I bet there’s tons of them down here. Most likely poor victims of the French Revolution. All headless and stuff.

*

I swear I turned away just for a second. Maybe a minute. Not longer. But when I turn around again, Jim is gone. Of course. Why am I even surprised. After all, this underground labyrinth is like the perfect playground for a consulting five year old. Now I have to go and find him. Lovely. And I don’t even have a flash light on me.

*

I think I just got lost in the catacombs of Paris. Most likely I will die here of starvation and join the poor headless ghosts. Hopefully some of them are hot chicks. Headless or not, I can always appreciate a good looking woman.

….okay I think that sounded less creepy in my head. I better find Jim fast.

*

What’s that strange noise? It sounds as if somebody is torturing a cat by stepping on its tail. I know you can start seeing things. But is it possible to have tonal hallucinations? There are no ghosts, right?

*

Now I can see something too. Some eerie flickering light. Like from a candle or such. And the awful noise is getting louder too. I’m not easily crept out but, shit, this is giving me the shivers. I believe I can hear somebody singing too but I’m certain my mind is playing tricks on me now.

*

So it’s not a dead headless chick. It’s actually as far from a dead headless chick as it can get. It has a head. And is clad in a black suit and a matching cape and wears a white mask that covers half of its face.

‘It’ is my boss and is sitting at an organ and is playing some tune from a musical and is singing to it. What musical you ask? Why, The Phantom of the Opera of course. I knew that Jim isn’t the best singer in the world (Trust me I know. Oh God, I know.) but combined with the dissonant organ play and the way the sound echoes off the walls…. I’m pretty sure these are the sounds found in Dante’s Inferno.

*

Jim thankfully stopped singing and playing but only to present me with a frilly dress and tell me to put it on so I can play my role. Obviously I’m Christine, the girl the Phantom falls in love with. While the thought is endearing I’m not going to play dress up and sing for Jim! I rather want to figure a way out of this place. He must have planned this though. Maybe this is my punishment?

*

I do dress up and sing for Jim. If the photos of this incident ever leak to the internet I will have to shut it down. But I gotta say my singing voice isn’t half bad. Although I’m pretty sure that Christine didn’t sing baritone. Even Jim seems impressed. But I’m not sure because he’s been staring at me all day anyways and I can see that he’s about to burst into laughter.

*

Never before did I have the urge to kneel down to kiss the ground as we finally get out of the catacombs. Jim is back in his tourist outfit and the only reminder of my role as Christine is a bit of lipstick on my collar. I can live with that.

*

We visit a few more tourist spots and have lunch on the Champs Elyse. Jim is fiddling around with his mobile again. He suddenly gets all excited but won’t tell me what he found. He just insists that we leave right away.

*

I caught a glimpse of the spot Jim wants to visit next and do my own research as we sit in the metro. Jim is all giddy again and won’t listen to me as I try to tell him something. Instead he makes a ‘zip’ movement with his fingers and I shut up, although I really know better.

*

It’s been a while since I’ve seen Jim this down. We’re standing in front of a regular worn looking building and he stares at the entrance door as if he could wish the place back that was here years ago. He really wanted to visit the Café d’Enfer or Hell’s café and if only to tell me many, many times that he’s been to hell and back. I almost feel a bit of pity for him now as he looks at me and asks me to do something about this. All I can do though is to show him online that the café no longer exists. He would have known that too if he had read the information’s more closely. But I refrain from pointing that out.

*

Jim is quiet the entire way back to the hotel. He’s still quiet when we have dinner in the restaurant. I don’t like him like that. He can’t possibly be that upset about not being able to go to that café? I try to cheer him up by offering him to go to one of the trendy nightclubs later on. He doesn’t seem too interested but I can see how his mood starts to shift back again. So we’ll be going. The day is saved, hooray.

*

Jim just revealed to me that I no longer have to fear any punishment. But not because of the Phantom bit, no. He already tried punishing me with the dozen oysters because he had read they count as a natural aphrodisiac. Obviously he had planned to have me walk around with a hard on all day long. Geez, thank you, Jim. But his plan didn’t work so he’s trying to figure out what went wrong by ordering a dozen oysters for himself.

*

The nightclub is really packed and the beat of the music is making the dance floor vibrate. Jim is wearing his lime green underpants as I can see them peeking out from his skin tight jeans. It’s a sight I enjoy. They’re also using foam canons and soon I’m all soaked and forced to dance close to Jim. Although…well…forced is the wrong word. While I am usually not the kind of guy to show affection in public I don’t mind Jim grinding up to me like that. Not at all.

*

It seems what Jim read is right. Oysters are a natural aphrodisiac. Why they didn’t work on me I can’t say. But they certainly worked on him. Why I know? Let’s just say that there were some behind-the-club-in-a-dark-corner-shenanigans. I get the feeling I won’t get much sleep tonight.

Isn’t life just great?


	6. Moran's Travel Blog - France Part 6

April, 14th

It’s finally time to leave Paris again and head back home. Just to make sure we didn’t miss anything I guess I should go through my checklist after packing our stuff up. Jim is still ‘recovering’ from last night and he has some trouble sitting so he’s currently laying on his belly on the bed, watching me, giving me ‘helpful’ instructions on how to fold his clothes the right way.

*

Now let’s see the checklist I made:

Bought plenty of wine and got drunk- Check

Visited enough dead royals and churches to last me a life time- Check

(I should be entitled to get a fucking halo later on just for that)

Bought random crap aka souvenirs- Check

Killed somebody – Check

(Wouldn’t be a trip with Jim if somebody didn’t lose their life)

Having to search for Jim because he randomly disappeared- Check

Visited the Moulin Rouge – Check

Shagged at a place that wasn’t the bed- Check

Jim damaging property (our car) – Check

Breaking into a building – Check

Making fun of the Mona Lisa – Check

Jim mentioning Holmes at one point – Check

Jim buying me a suit – Ch-

Wait.

Fuck.

I knew I had forgotten about something….

*

Jim must have seen the expression of unbridled fear in my eyes (or so I assume) because he just announced that we need a few more souvenirs from the Champs Elysee- for me. At least this time it’s me driving the car so we should get there safely and in dry condition.

*

Jim bought be a suit. No, wait, I lied. He bought me /five/ suits. One for each day we’ve been here. He says it’s to show his gratitude and to reward me for a job well done. And because I was an excellent Christine to his Eric.

I know he’s doing it to prolong my suffering. After the fifth suit I’m sweaty and just want to jump back into the river. Jim on the other hand… The way his eyes rake over my body tells me that he’s forgotten about how sore he felt this morning.

*

Jim is having trouble to sit again and I think it’s the first time we ever got tossed out of an expensive designer store for shenanigans. Which means I didn’t get those five suits. Instead Jim ordered me to make sure the shop is blown up in due time. The grin on my face says it all. Jim isn’t grinning though, at least not until I shove him into a pastry shop and let him choose from an overabundance of colorful macarons. It soothes his mood although it won’t soothe the soreness elsewhere.

*

We just went up on Tour Montparnasse and are now gazing over the city. Jim is still eating macarons and I fear we won’t be leaving today after all because he’ll get a stomach ache again. Then he suddenly stops and makes a wide gesture around the entire city. I look at him in confusion but then I understand.

All mine!

*

Our last stop before we finally return to good ol’ England is of course a castle. The castle. Versailles. Built on a moat if I’m not mistaken, it costed many people’s lives until it was finished. I shouldn’t be so surprised that Jim wants to go there after the disappointment in the Louvre and the lack of crown jewels for him to ‘borrow’. As the car finally leaves Paris with us, I can add another point to my checklist.

Survived yet another holiday with Jim – Check

Or was it premature to assume I’m safe?

*

Seems I did speak too soon. Jim has me stop the car at a pull-in and when he drags something from the boot I know I’m going to die.

Mostly of embarrassment.

*

We just arrived at Versailles. In full Louis Quatorze gear. I’m even wearing a white powered wig. Jim too but his has a lot more locks than mine as he poses as the sun king himself. I look like I fell out of a costume movie from the seventies. I have no idea when or where he acquired these outfits but people start staring at us the instant we get out of the car. God. I wish I could shoot everybody as now the other tourists are starting to take photos too. Obviously Jim doesn’t give a damn about travelling incognito. At least Mycroft Holmes will have a good long laugh.

*

As we wander through the halls and rooms that are open to public, Jim explains me in detail how people lived here back then. I wish he’d stop though. Not that I’m bored of historical facts but the part about the fleas and lice and people peeing into the fireplaces for the lack of toilets (while maintaining their conversation) is not exactly the kind of stories I’m keen on hearing. I’m just glad Jim didn’t go fully authentic there.

*

The mirror gallery seems to fascinate Jim the most. I would dare to guess it’s because he likes looking at himself. Even if he looks totally ridiculous now. At least he’s happy which is worth a lot in my book.

*

We just got caught by some security guards after leaving the parts open to the public. Jim wanted to explore his entire castle. His. Hah. He sure got that Napoleon complex going on. Or whatever you’d call it.

*

I fear Jim’s costume and his orders don’t impress the guards as they don’t follow suit as he tells them to ‘kneel before your king’. If anything they look at me questioningly. Poor guy. They’re not used to deal with crazy people.

Or Jim.

Which, I dare to say, is kinda the same overall.

*

Jim just demanded /I/ should make them kneel. Does he expect me to point my fucking gun at them? Tons of people took photos of us and even with wig and make up I’m dead certain they’d figure out who we are! The guards obviously decided by then that back up is needed as one of them pulls out his walkie talkie. Great.

*

We somehow escaped after a prolonged chase scene through the royal gardens. It’s hard to run with Jim struggling like that as I carry him over my shoulder. He shouts all sorts of curses at me before finally shutting up. All that is missing is the Benny Hill theme music.

*

We’re finally sitting in the car again, direction Dover. Jim is still pouting and wearing his king outfit. I managed to get at least rid of the wig. My entire head is itching now. I swear to God, if he actually added lice to it for authenticity I will throw him in the Thames.

The next time we travel /I/ will choose the destination!

*

Forget it, Moran. I’m not going to India with you. ~Jim


End file.
